


Not Time

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: Laura Roslin is no fool. She’s known from the moment she and Bill started down this path that this day – this moment – would come.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to survival instinct.net on December 21, 2008.
> 
> Just a little something that came to mind during this quiet, snowy weekend. Thanks as always to nnaylime and caz963 for the suggestions and advice.

Laura Roslin is no fool. She’s known from the moment she and Bill started down this path that this day – this moment – would come. Yet despite the obvious warning signs – a softening in the lines and crags of his face, the bright earnestness in his eyes as he looks on her, the gentle touch of his hand against her cheek – when he does speak the words she’s been dreading, her heart stops all the same.

“I love you.”

Her chest swells almost painfully in response – from panic, she assures herself – and Laura finds that, in spite of the discomfort, she can’t tear her eyes away from his. She’s not ready for this – may never be ready; and while she’s been able to accept that she does indeed need him, she can’t – won’t – give him more than that. There’s too much else at stake and for the hundredth, maybe the thousandth time she wishes that Bill could see just how much he’s asking of her. 

The silence between them lengthens, growing heavy with expectation as the seconds pass and still she says nothing. The inevitable fallout – something else she’s long expected but isn’t fully prepared for – comes a moment later, slipping across his countenance like a shadow as the hand cradling her cheek drops listlessly to his side. 

Laura searches her frustratingly paralyzed mind in vain for something, anything to say that might take away the wounded accusation she sees in his eyes. Bill must sense her struggle – perhaps it’s the way her mouth is fluttering open and closed like a fish that gives it away – and shakes his head. “You don’t—”

The defeat she hears in the muted rumble of his voice shatters something inside her and suddenly the elusive words she’s been seeking are past her lips, surprising them both. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time since this exchange began she isn’t sure what to expect from him, and when Bill takes her hand in his and tenderly brushes the pad of his thumb across her knuckles, she tries not to flinch away from the contact. 

“I’m not,” he says simply. “And I don’t want you to be either.”

The words have been carefully chosen, and it’s clear from Bill’s tone and expression that he’s referring to more than simply what’s happened between them here tonight. She’s chagrined to realize that she may not be the only one harboring expectations and fears about the course their relationship might take.

Laura gives his hand a gentle squeeze before stepping closer and resting her head against his shoulder. It’s the most she’s able to offer him right now and he accepts it without question, pulling her close as he wraps her securely in his arms. She can’t help the twinge of guilt she feels as she listens to the steady thrum of his heart; despite his assurances she knows he wants – and deserves – more from her than she is willing to give. 

But now isn’t the time to dwell on it; the day has been a long one – for both of them – and she can tell by the slump of the shoulder beneath her cheek that Bill is as tired as she is. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispers against the fabric of his uniform, and is relieved when she feels his lips brush against the crown of her head in response. His hold on her loosens just enough for her to turn within the circle of his arms and together they make their way to his rack.

 

*fin.*


End file.
